It is well-known that post-punk bands thrive on the notion of volume. Distort the guitar, fuzz the bass, crank both to ten, throw a filthy keyboard on top and go melt shit. This formula often creatively restricts bands that begin with a “loud” reputation and are pressured to release similarly heavy material. Malatese are a four-piece group by way of Harrisonburg, Virginia who realized years ago that their attempt at being a “volume based band” no longer propelled their artistry forward in a meaningful way. I’m Just Gonna Get in This Fucking Helicopter showcases their continued evolution and growth as a cerebral and experimental unit.

The songs presented here are stylistically coherent with each other and successfully combine spurts of speed with extended periods of quiet meditation and winding structural changes. This is a highly improvisational and experimental release that smoothly blends elements of post-punk roots with krautrock and art-punk influences. The vocals distantly croon over the bleak, hypnotic, and tight rhythm section while the guitar crawls and creeps with menacing restraint that occasionally unhinges with blasts of raw angular distortion. Many artists that seek to push their own improvisational boundaries stumble and release boring or unfocused material. Malatese thankfully avoids such a fate by ditching the bloated vanity jam session and in favor of refining a series of wild practice sessions into several fully-realized tracks.

Over the course of five songs Malatese plays with the notion of what listeners have learned to expect from similar bands. “Last Night I Felt Fine” is rooted in a consistent drum and bass throb with brief bursts of guitar feedback that eventually collapses under its own weight. The follow-up “I Was On A Binger” is a brief bit of relaxed experimentation that leads into the entirely distorted and rocking EP centerpiece “Natural Consequence” (the most attention-grabbing song on the release and the most similar to their old output). The EP finisher “38.547999, -77.360659” (which I am told is the geographic coordinate of the Malatese Graveyard) exists as a microcosm of the release as a whole; a slow burn of a song that twists its way through a multitude of noticeably subtle signature shifts and allows for the individual players to grow and recede on their own accord without competing or screaming for space and attention. Even the final minute’s slow-roaring wall of guitar feedback feels restrained as it cuts in and out before finally yielding to a conclusive steady drone.